


a tale of blood and metal.

by sturidge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, for starters at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturidge/pseuds/sturidge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter AU, set on the universe of 'A Song of Ice and Fire'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a tale of blood and metal.

* * *

 

 

_Prologue._

HANGLETON’S END.

 

‘Twas a dark, stormy night, like those we heard of on the old stories told around the fire by ancient folk. The wind was hissing outside the windows, shaking trees out of their roots; the cold was bone-shattering, freezing the lake and covering the pale surface of the lake in a fine layer of ice. Out there, Peeves – little demon of hoar-frost – ran around hassling the horses and killing the sheep; his nails would scratch against the doors of poor villagers when they least expected, startling the children and scaring the wives out of their vigils, each of them still praying to the Merciful Gods for their husbands’ safe return from the battlefields.

The war against Grindewald the Mad raged on and sometimes, just sometimes, if you were quiet enough, you could hear the cry of the brave knights of the Northeast as the swords of the Mad Man's warriors pierced through their hearts.

At the castle in Hangleton’s End, silence reigned. You could hear a golden coin dropping from a mile away. There was not a single sound coming from within the gaunt stone walls. Nothing. _Except_...

Except for the wheezing coming from Dot Merryweather’s chest as she ran down the stairs and tried to breathe at the same time, quite the act for someone her age and size. The hair – once auburn, now in a disgusting shade of grey – was half-braid, half-falling all over her face; the nightgown slipped down her shoulder at each new step. No time to fix it, though. There was a little girl at her doorstep in need of help.

She was getting ready for a well-deserved night of sleep, after hours of tending for Her Ladyship in her moment of need, when a raven landed on her windowsill. White as the first flakes of snow, the bird had the eyes of a viper, ruby and black like the blazes of the hellfire. _This cannot be a good omen_ , she’d thought to herself, whooshing it away.

Just as she closed the window, Dot caught a glimpse of something – something big; something _human_ – moving through the ground; or rather, dragging itself off, a trail of blood following its path. It was a woman, heavily pregnant by the looks of it, and she wouldn’t make it to the castle doors alive.

“Go wake Bryce and Leanna and whoever else you can find”, she order to the first maid on her path. Elanor almost jumped off her skin at the sight of the heavy woman running, but Dot paid no attention to her or the fact that she was coming out barely dressed of the bedroom of Her Ladyship’s youngest son. “We have an emergency!”

But emergency wasn’t the right word for it.

‘Lost case’ would be more fitting.

By the time they got to the girl, she was way past the point of saving. Fallen down like a sack of potatoes, she was covered in her own blood and vomit, a gut wound so deep you could see her intestines pouring out. _Had she come there all the way from the battlefield_?, Dot wondered, as she and old-man Bryce carried the semi-unconscious girl to a chamber near the kitchen.

She had fair skin, the young lady, covered in bruises and scars; hair as black as night itself, and the bluest eyes Dot had ever seen. By the strong chin and sharp cheekbones, anyone would think she belonged to the House of Black or the House of Malfoy, but there were no seals in her personal belongings.

A bastard, perhaps. She wouldn’t be the first to travel all the way to Hangleton’s End just to die at their doorstep – and certain not the last.

What caught Dot’s attention, however, was the pregnancy. The girl was about to go into labour! Could the baby still be alive? Could they _save_ him?

“Bring me some hot towels,” Dot ordered, turning to Elanor, who still stood bleakly at the bedroom door.

“S-shouldn’t we wake up Lady Maryam? Shouldn’t she be here?” Elanor stuttered, wide-eyed. Dot had to hold back her fury.

“This young lady is dying, you foolish girl! MOVE!” she roared, throwing an empty bowl at her.  Elanor disappeared out of her sight just as the pottery crashed on solid wall. “Hang in there, sugarpie, everything’s gonna be alright.”

As an answer, the girl left out a scream so loud, it also left her deaf. While old-man Bryce held her down against the wooden bed, trying to fix the bleeding long enough for her to give birth, she fought him down, crying and trying to tear herself away. Her skin glittered with sweat as fewer burnt through her body, tearing her inside out.

“ _Tom_ ”, she wept, clinging to Dot like a thirsty man to a fountain. The girl’s glassy eyes could only see shadows; she searched the room frantically for that of her bellowed – and her betrayer.

Dot would never learn the story of how they met and how she fell in love. How he seduced her to her bed with the promises of marriage, only to throw her on the streets when they were done. No, Dot would never know what she went through, rejected by family and friends, running away with a child in her belly, running to the arms of strangers that would strip her of everything: gold, clothing, agency… eventually her own life, when she had nothing else to offer.

The old maid would only hear her whispering Thomas’ name over and over, any other words slipping away from her mouth as quick as her own life. It was, later, the name given to the little boy born just as the clock stroke midnight, Merope’s last act of love; the last name to escape from her lips as the lights faded out and darkness engulfed her.

Tom was born at the first hour of New Year’s Eve – the same moment a white raven landed on the windowsill of one Sybill Trelawney, known by some as the Blind Seer, just as she received the prophecy that would change everything.


End file.
